Blood and Snow
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Oneshot entry for the NFA Snow challenge. I was experimenting with a different writing style. It's all about what one single person can see.


**A/N: **Oneshot entry for the NFA Snow Challenge. I was trying to experiment with a different writing style. You can decide whether or not you like it.

**Disclaimer:** Nope. Don't own it. Wish I did. I don't. I'm not making any money. I'm poor. Does that cover everything? :)

* * *

**Blood and Snow  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

A passing zephyr carried with it a swirl of snow. It was the light fluffy stuff that was characteristic of drier, colder air. It contrasted with the heavier wet snow on the ground. There was just enough wind that the world was turned to shades of white and gray...except for a splash of red, dotting the white snow.

Blood was warm, even hot when it first spilled from a living body. It melted the snow as it fell, creating small holes within the white landscape.

A lone tree, its bare branches reaching up toward heaven, the gnarled bark screaming silently.

A lone figure sitting beneath the tree. He had been sitting there long enough that the snow coated his hair, aging him by about twenty years. Snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, dotted his dark winter coat. Even the blood staining his clothes was now being covered by the falling snow, no longer warm enough to melt the flakes.

A shadow falling across the figure, gun in hand. More drops of bright red, melting the snow before cooling. The gun came up, revealing bloody fingers as the coat pulled back. Carefully, he checked the figure, pulling the gun on the ground far from a hand that never would move again.

It was over...

The shadow shook, almost as if trembling in the wind, shivering with the cold. Then, the source of the shadow fell to the ground, gun slipping from fingers suddenly too weak to hold it. Kneeling, almost as in an attitude of prayer, he saw his blood staining the ground and wondered if he'd bleed to death. It was a rather clinical thought, one brought on by a desire to avoid thinking about what had just happened. ...and he was alone...

_...have to catch him..._

_...can't let him get away..._

Snippets of the last few days ebbed and flowed in his head.

_...random attacks..._

_...who could it be..._

Dominated by what had happened just an hour ago...

_...ten dead; how many more..._

Still, the warm blood dripped into the cold snow. Dizziness took over and he fell to the ground, turning his head, feeling the coolness conflicting with the heat from the graze on his head, staring at the snow, feeling it swirl around him, hearing it shake the branches of the tree above him. He thought that the scene must be an interesting one from a distance. The dead man propped up against the lone tree. The one still living at the moment lying on the ground, blood around both of them. Other than the two figures, it was a beautiful winter scene: a clearing in the wooded area, snow covering the dead grass, trees surrounding, bare branches straining toward heaven. It was a nearly dichromatic scene, all white and dark...except for the blood.

He wasn't sure how badly he'd been hit. The short-lived gun battle had resulted in two hits on both sides. Luckily, the man he'd been after had received the worst of it. Even so...the bullet which had gone through his arm must have done some damage.

He sighed, his breath condensing into a puff of smoke, and rolled onto his side, reaching vainly for the gun he'd dropped. All he succeeded in doing was staining more of the snow. He didn't really feel cold, but he watched as snowflakes fell onto his coat...and didn't melt.

With another sigh, his eyes closed. He was on his way. After the attack on the Yard, he had been the one to pursue the attacker because he'd been in his car as the man had sped out through the gates. As he drove, he'd called for backup, but no one had answered. He had hoped that a police officer might try to pull him over for speeding but no one did. No backup...no one...and he didn't know if it was because they were all dead or if they were just busy trying to help out after the hail of gunfire.

A swirl of snow, blowing right into his face, coating his eyelashes, slowly melting into water droplets on his forehead and his cheeks. He opened his eyes, staring at the view in front of him.

It was so quiet. Except for the wind, there was nothing. The man was dead...and he felt as though he might be soon. It was a shame, really. He didn't want to die, but as the blood pooled beneath his arm, beneath his head...and beneath his shoulder he now realized, melting the snow, he just didn't have the energy to get up again.

Everything seemed to be turning gray, fading in and out. One more grab for the bloody gun and his head dropped, eyes closing for what might be the last time...alone...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The gray began to dissipate...slowly...and with its dissipation came sounds, noises...voices perhaps. Footsteps, running across the snow on the ground, running through the snow in the air...a near blizzard. His arm was white, white with snow. Even the blood was getting covered. How long had he been out? He didn't move, except to try and blink some of the snow out of his eyes.

"McGee!"

The voice was clear, finally. Still, he didn't move. Curious, he attempted to move his fingers. He couldn't see them, couldn't feel them, but logic told him they must be there.

"McGee!"

The voice was closer. Still, he simply lay where he was, blinking in the gray.

Then, he was being rolled over onto his back, eyes staring upward into the heavens, seeing the bare branches of the lone tree in the edge of his vision. His head was moved to the side, and he saw the dead man leaning against the tree, almost covered in snow. It was cold now.

A dull throbbing in his arm made him wish for the gray. He breathed slowly, feeling the furious activity going on around him. He shivered. He felt so slow, so blunted...as if all the movement around him were nothing more than...slightly more solid wind. His eyes started to close again, his head lolling back.

Sharp pain on his cheeks brought him back and his eyes opened, looking upward into another pair of eyes. He wasn't sure he knew whose they were.

"Come on, McGee, don't fade out on us now!"

Snow. It was still falling. It was like being in a star field, watching the white flakes descending down onto his face.

"Focus on me, McGee. Got that?"

Still moving slowly, he moved his eyes and looked into a pair of blue eyes. They were different from the eyes he'd seen before. His eyelids flickered as he stared, feeling movement all around him. Then, he was being lifted...it was like he was floating in the air. He moved his eyes away from the blue and back to the body under the tree.

"Stay with me, McGee. You're going to be all right."

The gray was rushing in once more and he felt what seemed like all the air in his body rush out in one long exhale. Then, in spite of the shouts around him, his eyes closed and all was darkness...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Darkness disappeared in a sudden jolt of energy. His eyes opened and then closed again.

Another jolt brought him back...and his eyes opened again. The sight greeting his eyes was very different from what he'd seen last. He looked around the room in confusion, hearing distorted voices, feeling as though there was a curtain between him and the rest of the world.

"...Agent...can you...me?"

The words crackled in his head like static. His eyes wandered and then began to roll back into his head.

"We need you to stay awake, Agent McGee. Can you look at me?"

The words were all clear this time. He made an attempt. The world boiled down to the person standing over him, talking to him in words that began to lose meaning once again. The work being done on him by others was immaterial. Only the woman standing over him...

She was on the right side, the opposite of where all the other people were working. Still, he felt as though time wasn't moving for him like it was for them...and he was tired.

The world started to gray once more.

"Stay with me, Agent McGee."

With an effort, he focused on her again.

"Good."

For the first time, he felt compelled to speak. He opened his mouth but couldn't get breath enough to get any words out.

"Don't try to talk, Agent McGee. Just stay awake."

A hand was suddenly holding his.

"Squeeze my hand."

He tried to, but it was hard.

"Good. Very good."

The babble of voices coming from the left side of his body suddenly grew in volume.

"...stabilized. The OR is ready for him. It's now or never."

"We're going to send you up to surgery now. They'll remove the bullet."

He squeezed her hand again and was rewarded with a smile. Then, lights flashed above his head...followed by a short elevator ride...followed by more lights dizzily passing by.

A masked figure spoke and then things began to fade away again...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a hand holding his. Thinking it was the woman he'd seen before, he squeezed it.

"McGee? You awake?"

That was _not_ the woman's voice...since it was male.

"McGee?"

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes and saw that the scenery had changed once again. He was in a room, quiet, beeping noises to the side, but still quiet.

"McGee?"

His eyes shifted to the voice beside him.

"Boss..." he whispered, there was barely any voice to the word at all. He couldn't find the energy to do more than that.

"Yeah, McGee."

He looked at the man beside him. It must have been a bad day. His face was drawn with worry, making him look at least ten years older.

"Sorry..." he whispered.

"For what?"

He just shook his head tiredly.

"...safe?"

"Yeah. A couple of tourists were killed and there were some wounded, but everyone at NCIS was safe."

He nodded and closed his eyes again.

"Why did you go after him?"

"...had to...no one else."

There was a soft sound, almost like a chuckle. He opened his eyes and saw Gibbs, the rictus of worry fading from his face, the lines smoothing away.

"You do that again, I'll kill you, McGee."

He smiled. "Okay."

His eyes closed. He slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When he opened his eyes again, it was bright, sunny, the snow blinding in its brilliance. He smiled at the sight...and at the sight of the people around him.

The bullet had torn through his arm and lodged in his ribcage. He had almost died. Now, he was lying in a hospital, looking at his friends, asleep nearby.

"Good morning," he whispered.

As soft as it was, it was loud enough. Eyes opened. Smiles.

"McGee!"

As they all swarmed around, talking, almost crying, it was enough to wipe away the feelings he'd had of being alone. It was enough.

Briefly, he looked past his friends out the window at the bright snow.

It really was beautiful.

FINIS!


End file.
